


Rasp

by lalazee



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus shaves his head. Esca loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rasp

“My head is cold.”  
  
Esca snorts a short laugh and shucks his glasses, chucking them to the desk. Squinting his tired eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Esca says into the mobile, “You’ll get used to it.”  
  
“Someone stared at me. I think I might look like an idiot.”  
  
“That’s nothing new, darling.”  
  
“This breeze is like  _caressing_  my scalp.”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“Petting.”  
  
“Truly.”  
  
“ _Molesting_. I don’t like it.”  
  
“Well that’s a shame because hair  _never_  grows out and you’ll have this same style for the remainder of your life.”  
  
“Are you going to make fun of me if I look bad?”  
  
Esca clips his laptop shut and slumps back in his chair, one leg curled beneath him and one foot stretched out. He idly pushes himself in slow circles, staring at the ceiling. “I thought that went without saying.”  
  
“That had been your cue to assure me that I never look bad.”  
  
“It’s like you don’t even know me, Marcus.”  
  
“Is your unhelpfulness on purpose or is it a medical condition?”  
  
“Where are you right now?”  
  
“Coming up the stairs, actually.”  
  
Esca grins. “Then why are you still talking to me?”  
  
He hangs up and tosses his phone aside before Marcus can reply. Esca lurches from the chair and pads to the front door, taking care to step over their mammoth, ginger cat, Mog (let Marcus never name another animal again, fuck’s sake), who is lying like a beached whale in the middle of the hallway.  
  
Esca whips open the door just in time for Marcus to look up from the keys in his hand and smile sheepishly. He ducks his head a little and runs a large palm over his crown. “So?”  
  
Esca’s mouth has gone dry, his words turning to dust on his tongue.  
  
Marcus’ ears are endearingly stuck-out now that they’re not hiding beneath the shaggy lack-of-style he’d previously sported. The dark arches of his eyebrows are dramatic, and his eyes hold the light like flecks of gold, with nothing to distract from them. Not to mention that Marcus has just gone from classically handsome to don’t-fuck-with-me in a single haircut.  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Esca finally says. His heart thunders in his ears, and he realises then that he has left Marcus standing in the corridor during the wee holiday his brain has taken.  
  
Marcus’ face lights up. “Yeah? Well I –”  
  
“Come here.” Esca yanks Marcus in by the collar, slams the door and plasters Marcus against the wall with the expanse of his body. Esca can already feel a low, lazy pulse blooming low in his belly.  
  
“Here,” Marcus says, his pupils swelling as they focus on Esca. His hips reflexively roll toward Esca’s, with his hands knotting in the delicate fabric of Esca’s shirt. “Definitely here.”

Esca’s lips part in subtle awe as he brings a hand up and cups the back of Marcus’ head. The short bristles of hair rasp and tickle his palm, both soft and prickly. Esca’s fingertips trail the stiffly-fuzzed curve of Marcus’ scalp down to the nape of his neck, where the pads of his fingers still tingle, even after they meet smooth, freckled flesh.  
  
“Why did you not do this sooner?” Esca says, barely hearing his own voice above the mounting roar of his heartbeat.  
  
“Last time I did it was the eighth grade and everyone called me Dumbo for a year.”  
  
Esca’s laugh is barely there – a huff of breath that’s directly inhaled by Marcus. Their lips are a sliver of humming air away. Esca’s thumbs brush behind Marcus’ ears, following the fine edge of delicate skin and stiff hair. Each swipe of his fingers zings down his palm and jolts straight into his bloodstream, leaving a trail of goosebumps along his forearms.   
  
Marcus’ eyes go molten and hooded as he relaxes against the wall, with the natural cant of his body pressing his metal-cold zipper against the thin cotton clinging to Esca’s belly. His warm, wide palms curve around the small of Esca’s back – pulls him in close with one quick, sure yank.  
  
Esca sucks in a sharp breath, his stomach skipping and his limbs flooding with heat. Marcus is different this way. Esca can’t pinpoint how, but there’s an edge to Marcus now; keen, cutting straight to Esca’s bones. Marcus looks like a fighter, like a soldier. As if his outside finally matches his inside.  
  
Although it’s Esca who instigates, it’s Marcus who carries through. Marcus, who backs Esca into the bedroom with eyes like amber shards and a mouth that marks Esca’s skin bruise-blue. When their clothes are strewn and Marcus discovers the trail of Esca’s hip, winds down to fist a hand around Esca’s cock, Esca grapples for purchase in Marcus’ hair and comes up short. There’s nothing to hold on to. He’s lost, and it’s exhilarating.  
  
When Marcus finally drives Esca to a peak with wet fingers and grazing knuckles and deep murmurs in the damp angle of his jaw, Esca has nothing to cling to but the red, nail-bitten flesh of Marcus’ back. He lets go, falls apart with a hoarse gasp that rocks through his system; arches into Marcus’ hand and wonders if Marcus will ever realise just how much power he holds over him.   
  
Sometime later, Marcus is no longer crushing Esca beneath his hulking weight, and Mog has curled against the small of Esca’s bare back. Esca cheek rests upon Marcus’ sweat-cooled chest, and his palm is rubbed raw from the number of times he has glided it over the lightly-spiked plains of Marcus’ crown.   
  
“I suppose it’s an  _okay_  haircut,” Esca says, after a time.  
  
“ _Apparently_ ,” Marcus says with a slur and a smile in his voice.  
  
Esca feels his face heat and gives Marcus’ stomach a light slap. “Shut up, Dumbo.”


End file.
